I Hope You Dance
by Sidney Ella Ford
Summary: Freddie and Sam come to terms with tradgedy, and the bond they never realized they shared. Rated for language and character death. Read and Review, please.
1. Chapter 1

**My first attempt at a full-length iCarly story. Be warned, it's going to be sad. It's an angst people, what do you expect? I've actually had this idea bouncing around in my head since my eighth grade graduation, in which they played this song that made me -and half the grade- cry. I got the inspiration for this story when I was thinking about how Carly is the only real reason Sam and Freddie are friends. This is my idea of how they could be friends, and maybe (_maybe_) more later on. I don't own the song (Leeann Womack does), or iCarly (Dan Schneider does). **

_I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean..._

_**A letter from the iCarly Team**_

_**Dear viewers, **_

_**It's been all over the news, internet, and in every periodical piece of literature meant for readers over the age of ten, but we felt the need to make a formal announcement on this site. We didn't have the heart to film this announcement, hence the site link directing you straight to this letter. We regret to inform you that our dear friend has been killed in a hit and run accident. After a short -but eventful- life, a walk home from school became deadly, and we have been out of sorts since. The funeral will air live on tomorrow at noon Eastern Standard Time, and will be permanently archived as a tribute to the memory of our dear friend. We cannot assure you that the web-show will be continued, and if it is, it will not be rebooted for a very long time. This has taken a severe toll on our lives, and we're still learning to cope without the glue that held the iCarly Team together. **_

_**Regretfully yours, **_

_**Samantha Puckett and Fredward Benson**_

"It's posted," Freddie said softly, turning to look at the blonde that had had a steady stream of tears pouring down her face since he came to pick her up for one last visit to the studio before the funeral. He tentatively wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders, surprised that she didn't push him away. "Sam, I swear, things will get better."

The blonde blinked slowly, raising her eyes to meet his. "How would you know? Have you ever lost someone so close to you?" Her question was not accusatory, but truly curious. She needed to know that this pain that consumed her heart would go away, or at least fade, in time.

"My dad and Carly's mom died in the same drunk driving accident," Freddie said lowly. "I thought you knew that."

Sam thought into the deep recesses of her memory, then faintly remembered Carly telling her that same fact in second grade, on Drunk Driving Awareness day. Much like Carly, it had been a hit and run, and the bastards that took so much away from the Shay and Benson families were never caught. "I remember… When does it go away?"

"When does what go away?"

"The ripping feeling. Like you've eaten too many Fatcakes and they're ganging up on you, trying to explode out of your chest?"

Freddie would have laughed at the analogy if it hadn't hit the nail on the head. That was _exactly _what it felt like, in some words. Like something inside of him was trying to get out. Like Carly herself was trapped in his heart, and needed to be freed. "Would you kill be if I said it didn't? That sometimes, it never really goes away? The pain becomes bearable, eventually, but it takes a long time to become a simple ache. My mom still cries herself to sleep at night."

Sam made a mental note to try to harass Marissa Benson less. She'd never once thought of _why_ she was anal about how her baby boy was functioning. "Are we…. Will we…."

"Will we what?"

"Will we still be friends?" the blonde asked in a small voice, embarrassed, but mostly fearful.

Freddie didn't hesitate to pull the broken girl into his arms completely, her hear pressing against his heart and his head resting atop hers. "What we've been through in the last three year -hell, the last three _days_- will never go away. I don't think we really have a choice if we want to be friends or not anymore. Some part of me is always going to know you're my friend."

Sam nodded against his chest, his steady heartbeat reminding her that she still had some connection to _her_. It was Carly that wanted them to be friends in the first place, and friends they would be.

The pain the two shared filled the studio. Their new and unspoken bond filled it more. Their embrace lasted longer than either would admit, and Freddie -chivalrous as always- wiped away the remainder of Sam's tears before the left the iCarly studio for the last time in a long time.

**A/N: Review please. I've been really into angst lately, and iCarly is totally un-angsty, so I wanted to toy around with this. Thoughts?**

**~Sidney**


	2. Chapter 2

**I decided to not write the funeral. It doesn't seem relevent to my story's path. Please review, whether mean or nice. I don't mind. And I don't own the show. **

"Sam, Freddie; I've called you out of class this morning because, quite frankly, I'm worried about you," Ted Franklin said, looking over his desk at the solemn teenagers before him.

It had been a week since the funeral, and the two finally came back to school. Mrs. Benson had allowed Freddie to stay at home without henpecking him, and Ms. Puckett had taken the initiative to call the family therapist to coax Sam to eat and come out of her room (a broad gesture for the still-mending mother and daughter). When Freddie had called her two nights before, Sam decided it was now or never, and now they sat in their principal's office, being interrogated of their feelings, as if the two weeks hadn't been trying enough. As if the two days back at school hadn't been strange and painful.

"The moment you walked through the doors, I knew there was something off," the principal continued. "When _Ms. Briggs _sent me a concerned note that you two were not vocal in class -disrespectfully _or_ having to do with the lesson- I knew something was the matter. I'm no counselor, but I _am_ a father, and my paternal side understands that this is a difficult time for you."

Sam peeked through her eyelashes at Mr. Franklin. "How am I supposed to act?"

"Not that the good behavior you're exhibiting is bad, but Ridgeway has grown so accustomed to your normal passive-aggressiveness that this is beginning to frighten your teachers and fellow classmates."

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, blinking back tears. "I'm sorry…"

Freddie blindly reached a hand to the girl, finding hers on the armrest of her chair. He squeezed tightly, then released it. "We're trying, principal Franklin. You have no idea how hard it's been."

"You missed the in-school counseling days that we had," Principal Franklin said, rifling through some papers. "I would, however, like to refer you to a free counseling center that specializes in teenagers suffering over this kind of a loss. You can choose between group therapy or more intimately sized sessions. I've spoken to your mothers and they agree that this would be a good thing for you." He passed two pamphlets over the desk to the two teenagers. "Please consider attending. These people know what they're doing. They can help you."

Freddie nodded, and Sam whispered, "Okay. We'll try."

"Samantha, your mother is here to take you home. She agreed with me that you may need more rest."

"Yes, sir." Her voice was still a faint whisper. It was so unlike her that it was like a slap to Freddie's face.

"Freddie, you're to stay the remainder of the day. Tomorrow, you both will go to class as normal, and the assignments you've missed will not be required for you to make up. Please consider the counseling center. It could be very good for you."

Freddie and Sam nodded silently before standing and exiting the office. Freddie caught Sam by the arm and pulled her into a tight embrace before letting her go. "Get some sleep, Puckett."

The blonde nodded, her large, wet eyes meeting his dry ones. "I'll try."

Pam Puckett was waiting in the entrance of the school for her daughter, and put a comforting arm around her before leading her to their beat up Oldsmobile.

Later that afternoon, after a long nap, Sam awoke from a nightmare.

_It was a very overcast afternoon. There was a light drizzle streaming from the sky, but it didn't bother Carly Shay. While Freddie and Sam huddled under their umbrellas, she danced in the middle of the sidewalk, making her best friends laugh at her antics. Out of no where, there was the screech of tires and a small shriek before the world fell silent. Umbrellas and school bags abandoned in puddles, Freddie and Sam rushed to the place their best friend was laying. Blood pooled around her head at an alarming rate, and her breath was almost gone. Her pulse was faint, and it was nonexistent by the time the EMT crew made it to the scene. The drunk driver was long gone, and the only evidence that the driver had ever been there was the pool of blood left on the sidewalk when Carly Shay was placed in body bag. The blood was washed away slowly, and finally there was nothing. No evidence of life or death. _

"No! Carly!"

Sam woke herself up with her screams. At first, she was thankful and happy that it was only a dream. She hopped from her bed and rushed to the living room of her tiny apartment, only to see her mother leaning on the kitchen counter, eyes closed and lips moving silently. She was praying. Sam slowly moved her eyes to the coffee table, where the headline glared at her.

**TEEN WEB-STARLET CARLY SHAY KILLED IN HIT AND RUN ACCIDENT**

Sam rushed back to her room and slammed and locked the door, falling heavily against it and sinking to the floor as her sobs overtook her, worse than ever before. It wasn't a dream. It was real. Everything was real. The pain, the memories, the hopelessness…

"Sam!" Pam Puckett called, banging on the door to her daughter's room. "Sam, please! Open the door, honey!"

"No!" Sam shrieked back. "I'm never coming out again! She's gone!" Sam began hitting her head against the door with each word. "Gone, gone, gone… Forever…"

"Sam, honey, please!" Pam begged, jiggling the knob. "Please! Don't do this to yourself! Go to the clinic. Go where Mr. Franklin told you to. Get help with this, please!"

Sam sobbed harder. It was no use. There was no way to make things better. There was no help for her…

Not too far away, Freddie Benson got home from school and made it to his room. The technologically advanced room had nothing to gain his attention. His mind was on the person who lived -past tense- across the hall. He thought about how everyday, he'd have to trudge into his apartment, past _hers_. It wasn't fair for him. It wasn't fair for anyone. No one should have to feel the way he felt.

Before he knew it, he was laying on his bed, his face pressed into a pillow. Tears gradually soaked the pillow, and a new bruise formed on his heart for every person he thought of when he was letting go. His widowed mother. His late father. The late Anna-Claire Shay. Spencer Shay. Colonel David Shay. Carly. Sam. Himself.

He finally picked himself up and dusted himself off. Built his walls. Began a masquerade.

Sam Puckett and Freddie Benson began two very different paths to being whole again. Little did they know, they were walking in the wrong direction.

**A/N: This is going to be a romance, eventually. It's going to be a struggle, though. Also, I hope this helped with the 'how did she die' thing. I know the last chapter was vague in that respect. Reviews, please!**

**~Sidney**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, something people are missing that's relevent to this story: it's not a romance! The real Seddie isn't coming until the end, and there's a way to go with that. Also, I'm not a mean or impatient person, but if you have something to say to me about my stories, try giving examples behind your insults. I'm not going to listen to you if you don't have logic and reasoning behind your negative comments. I don't read iCarly fanfiction very often, so I don't know what is 'cliche' or 'overdone' in this fandom. If you have that big a problem with my writing, don't even read it if you're not going to contribute more than straight insults. **

**Well, ranting over. I don't own, and I'd like to thank the positive reviewers and those who've favorited and subscribed to this. I don't own iCarly, and I don't intend to. Again, I don't mind flames (or nice reviews!) but have examples to back up your logic if you're going to expect me to actually consider what you say. **

"Miss Puckett," a kindly older woman said, offering a hand to Sam as she entered the small office. "I'm Dr. Thornton. How are you doing?"

Sam shrugged, shaking the woman's hand limply before sitting on the edge of a straight-backed chair. She looked around her at the many colorful things in the small space. "I don't know."

Dr. Thornton sat in a chair identical to Sam's, right in front of the blonde. "I'm not here to make you nervous or scared, Sam. I'm here to help you work out your emotions in a way that can help you get through this."

Sam's gaze suddenly locked on the woman's, her eyes burning in fury. "I will _never_ get over this! What makes you think you can make me get over losing the only person who was always there for me?"

"I didn't say 'over'," Dr. Thornton said gently. "I said 'through'. I know there's no getting over some things. I just want to help you ease the pain and come to terms with what's happened."

"You _know_?" Sam asked skeptically. "Have you ever had your heart ripped out and replaced with a rock?"

Dr. Thornton folded her hands together and said patiently, "When I was nineteen, my older brother died of a severe head injury three nights before my wedding. I was devastated, the wedding was canceled, and I almost committed suicide. My fiancé forced me to get counseling when he saw how consumed I was with grief. That's why I'm here now. To help you like my fiancé -now my husband- helped me."

Sam was at a loss for words. She'd never been guided by someone who'd dealt with a similar issue to hers. It was humbling. She found herself almost comfortable, and asked in a small voice, "When does the pain go away?"

"I can't promise you that it ever goes away completely, but there are ways to channel it into something less tolling on your heart. Tell me about her, first," Dr. Thornton said softly. "Was she pretty?"

Sam almost found herself smiling. "She was beautiful. She was a better sister than my own twin sister."

Over the forty-five minute discussion in Dr. Thornton's office, Sam found herself spilling her heart about her love for best friend. After several tissues and a hug or two, time was up.

"Samantha, I'd like you to take this and keep a journal for me," Dr. Thornton said, handing Sam a purple spiral notebook. "Write what you dream about and what you think about daily. Write what you would say to Carly if you could. Don't be afraid to remember her."

Sam nodded, wiping her eyes one last time before standing. "I guess I'll see you…?"

"Next week, same time, same place. Have a good week, dear."

Sam turned and left the office, clutching the notebook to her chest.

Freddie was silent as he was led into the same office Sam had vacated moments before. He didn't think she saw him when she was leaving with her mother, and if she did, she didn't let it on.

"Hello, Mr. Benson," the same doctor said, shaking his hand. "I'm Dr. Thornton. How are you?"

"Fine," Freddie said automatically. He refused to sit down, and instead paced like a caged tiger.

"Would you like to ask me any questions before I ask you any?"

Freddie cast her a poisonous look, then turned to her bookshelf. "Why do you have so many kiddy coloring books?"

Dr. Thornton didn't make any indication that this was a strange question. "I have several small children who come in and out of my office. Coloring tends to calm their nerves, and the discussions are more effective."

"What about your older patients?"

"Well, they write in journals, usually, but I have a few patients who will play with stress toys or rip tissues apart to keep their hands busy," she said, motioning to her squeeze balls and a new box of tissues, fresh from Sam using the rest of her last box. "Do you need something to do with your hands?"

"No," Freddie snapped, beginning to pace again. "I'm fine. No one's listening to me about it. I'm perfectly fine."

Dr. Thornton looked up at Freddie's pacing figure. "Are you really? Are you not feeling any kind of guilt or sadness? Maybe anger?"

"I said I'm-" Freddie began to roar, but quieted his voice when he saw the doctor's unperturbed expression. "I said I'm fine."

"Freddie, are you involved in any physical activity?"

Freddie looked confused. "I fence, sometimes. I've studied archery for a few years."

"Any contact sports?"

Freddie scoffed. "My mother's afraid of letting me play with a flexible sword that bends with it touches air. She'd have a coronary if I were to do an activity that involved _miming_ contact."

Dr. Thornton stood up. "I don't think I'm the right doctor for you. Come with me. I have someone I'd like you to meet."

Freddie followed, reluctantly, as the woman led him down a corridor of the center to a rather large room, where a large man was boxing a hanging punch bag.

"Dr. Ogden," Dr. Thornton called. "Dr. Ogden, I have a new patient for you."

The man stopped his attack on the punching bag and turned to Dr. Thornton and Freddie. He looked like the opposite of a doctor. He looked like a heavyweight champion. Maybe even a body builder. His attack on the punching bag looked deadly, and he had a light sheen of sweat over his cocoa colored skin. He had a buzz cut and a goatee, which he stroked when he'd tossed his gloves of.

"Are you sure?" Dr. Ogden asked, looking skeptically at the pair. "He looks scrawny."

Freddie glowered at the man, intimidated by his size, but agitated at being called scrawny. He didn't like being called scrawny. He hadn't been 'scrawny' since ninth grade.

Dr. Thornton looked between the two males. "Freddie is expressing his grief through his temper, it seems. I thought that you could help him with releasing the angry energy."

To Freddie, she sounded like some hippy-dippy-let's-be-best-friends druggie. He didn't appreciate having someone sum up his emotions, especially with how hard we was trying to hide them. On the other hand, if he came here once a week and let loose for a while, he'd have a better time handling everyday life, and the façade he was working so hard to keep.

"What do you say, son?" Dr. Ogden said, turning to Freddie. "Would you like to try my method of therapy? It's not for wimps, so if you're not gonna give it your all, you can go on and leave."

Freddie shifted his gaze to make eye contact with the large man for the first time. "I'm in."

**A/N: I'm not going to have any updates for a week, because my internet access is weird, but next week I'll probably have a few updates for you. Reviews and contructive criticism are appreciated and encoruaged. **

**~Sidney**


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